MFV BF494 'Pansy', an old Motor Fifie Conversion

had be meaning to post a few bits and pieces about the trip back, but only just recovered!!

but we got here any way, and it was certainly eventful, had to pay an unexpected ransom demand to just get out of the canal which we weren't expecting, just shy of £150 to use 2 sets of locks! but we coughed up and got out about 11am on saturday 3rd may, and things went swimmingly... for a while, nice sunshine, light winds, dolphins doing dolphin things as we past chanory point.

If only things had stayed that way, first disaster didn't take long, we (I say we, it was someone else onboard) managed to set fire to the posh white vinyl seating that had adorned the deck, putting it all way safely behind the wheelhouse seemed a sound idea, leaning it against a big hot exhaust pipe around the back of the wheelhouse was probably less so. Took a while before anyone smelt burning, but luckily, smelt it was and the first disaster was averted.

the gentle cruise along the moray firth gave us time to have a good old poke about and see what surprises there might be stashed away on board that we'd not discovered... first discovery was a fireguard! Who needs a fireguard on a boat?? oh yeah we do in case we set fire to the seating obviously

then things started to get really interesting... the 'Heath Robinson' Hydraulic system that someone had newly fitted, well I say heath robinson, heath robinson was famed for ad-hoc constructions that actually worked, anyway, the hydraulic system decided it was bored and didn't want to play anymore, so steering became, err... unusual lets say. by this time its 7pm or so, and a quick look at the charts and the first reasonable harbour we can get into is.... Whitehills of all places, its where the old girl was born, bred and did her stuff for all those years, so eventually changed course and headed in. I think she knew where she was going as she went straight in to the very narrow harbour and up against the wall like she'd only done it yesterday.

so we got a night in Whitehills, lively little pub, even met a former owner too, all good omens you'd think.. Sadly that was probably the high point, from here on in things just got, well worse really.

Up and off with the tide and out we went, past all her old haunts, macduff, buckie, fraserborugh and all in between... things on the weather front were not behaving as predicted, the gentle F3 to F4, and slight to moderate seas, were long gone.

so around the corner we go into the horros that were to become Rattray head in a lcoalised F7 to F8 and rough to very rough... Blimey

it just got bigger and bigger! One of our team of hardened sea dogs succumbed to an attack of the Black SeaPhlegmitis and lay on the floor, rising only to reach for another fag and cast expletives at the sea, the second team member, Diligently donned floatation suit and had a fight with a lifejacket, the lifejacket won, but was reduced to a knotted mess of straps, buckles and vinyl before being offered to me by crew member No2, as he reached for another one to put on instead. But the old girl just ploughed into the stuff, waves combing over the gunnels and up through the scuppers... At this point we realised that the pounding from the sea had blown out much of the Caulking above the water line where the planks had been drying out nicely in the canal for the last couple of years, and we were taking water... lots of water, we had at one point a municipal paddling pool 6" deep in the saloon, repleat with municipal paddling pool turds bobbing around nicely. I told the boys they were turds any way , at this time they would believe anything I told them "look there's a kangaroo swimming in the bilges"

but on she went, the fishfinder telling me things I didn't want to know... at one moment 70 feet, the next 110 feet then 70 again. thats quite a big swell, with matching waves for what its worth

prayers were offered to my recently departed father, more cigarettes were smoked ( I nominate No2 and No3 for smoker of the year awards) and yeah verily delivereth us unto peterhead, whereupon a request to the harbour master to enter is met with a "you'll have to stand off as we are towing a tanker out" errr.. run that by me again, stand off?? out here?? in this sea, whilst filling with water?? are you quite mad

Unfortunately, i didn't get a chance to runt ha scenario past the harbour master as the yacht "Crispin", safely tucked up in Peterhead marina, was embarked on an epic crisis of their own..... to be continued!